


The Adventures of a Bunch of People Across Time, Space, and My Google Docs

by oh_demoted_short_one



Series: Flavours of Fandom [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drabbles, Ficlets, Gen, Things I Write When I'm Bored
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 18:19:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4231980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_demoted_short_one/pseuds/oh_demoted_short_one
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets and drabbles, these ones being Mass Effect. </p>
<p>There's a whole helluva lot more where these came from, because if there's one thing I like doing, it's jotting down lil blurbs when they pop into my head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Synthetic Mass Effect Shepard, Ensemble

Shepard wakes up in a hospital, but not in a bed. Instead, she’s on a table, and there’s a tag on her toe. She thinks that this should’ve gone out of fashion at least a century ago.

Everyone is surprised to see her, of course. They thought she was dead. They saw her body for themselves. She isn’t breathing. She only blinks out of habit. Jaavik looks at her confused, and Mordin like he needs to cut her open a little to see how she works.  
She chose Control. Even now she can feel the Reapers at the back of her mind, waiting for her command. She’s one of them now. She’s the smallest one there is. She’s not human anymore, but completely synthetic. EDE isn’t shocked in the least. She asks if she understands wanting to see organics on their knees, now. Joker laughs nervously. Legion reminds her that she is still Shepard-Commander.

 

They are glad she is alive, they say. She wonders if she is.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Toast BBC Sherlock Sherlock, John

The living room table is covered in toast. There’s also a small section of normal untoasted bread, but for the most part it’s all toast, of various shades and types. Here there’s a slice of barely warmed rye, and here a blackened piece of pumpernickel. John’s side table alone has some six piece of sourdough, some of which has very obviously gone off. Where that came from he doesn’t want to know.

All he does want to know he asks the thin air after a single shake of his head, “Thai or Indian?”

Sherlock’s reply, predictably, has nothing to do with the question. “Does this mean you’ve stopped trying to impress that barely legal thing at the pub down the way? Also, we need more milk.”

John ignores the four empty quart bottles on the floor and doesn’t ask where the three spare came from.


End file.
